Big Girl Boots

Eleven

"Gilbert, today was a bad, bad day. I hate this rodeo." I drained the last gulp of cheap beer from the can in my hand and tossed it to the trailer floor where the other four empties were scattered. With a little bit of struggling, I popped the top on my next one and took a long swig. Busch light was terrible, but I wasn't about to turn down alcohol.

"I'll be damned if I ever show my face in this town again. I don't even care if they have a big giant gun right on the road; it's still a shithole."

After my awful barrel run, I'd stalked around the rodeo grounds and found a younger guy that I'd seen before at rodeos but never spoken more than a few words to. Even though we didn't know each other, he'd given me a twelve pack of beer for the twenty bucks I'd brought along to buy food with.

"And now I'm just drunk and alone," I slurred, waving my can around like the maniac I was.

While I'd been gone, Coda, Kellan, and Dustie had come back to untack their horses. All four of our saddles were propped in the tack compartment of Uncle Mark's trailer and I was sprawled among them with my beer. Since running off, I hadn't seen or heard from any of my friends. Not that I cared; it was probably better for everyone that they didn't have to see me like this. I had a feeling Kellan was keeping Coda away on purpose, and that was okay.

Staring into my now half-full can, I wondered what Dustie was up to. Following Coda around was the last thing I could see her doing, and visiting with people she didn't know was the second-to-last. I'd expected her to hang out with me all day, but that was before I'd decided to perform horribly.

"Y'know," I began, propping the arm with beer on my hip, "it's a damn good thing my mom ain't here. Boy, would she be mad."

Even though I was drunk, the statement wasn't that far off. Every single time I had a bad run, I dreaded the ride home with my parents more than I dreaded showing my face at the next rodeo. Unlike mom, my rodeo friends understood that everybody has an off-day once in awhile. Mom would just hound me and point out every tiny reason why things went wrong instead of saying better luck next time.

"Kellan better not fuckin' say anything about this or else she's gonna call me and yell at me."

Taking another long sip of beer, I continued my pointless rant to four listeners who couldn't even understand human speak. "Why couldn't he have been the one who messed up? At least his parents don't yell at him."

"Hey, Blake?" From inside the cramped trailer compartment, the voice was muffled and I couldn't recognize it.

Since I was leaned back with my head resting on the seat of Coda's saddle, I struggled to sit up. All the racket I made gave away my hiding place and footsteps sounded on the packed dirt where we were parked. As they got nearer, I clenched my fists and prepared to fight. If it was somebody here to make fun of me for doing terribly, I was ready to knock their lights out.

"Blake, what're you doing in the trailer?"

By the time my reflexes caught up with the appearance of Dustie, I recognized her and dropped both fists. "Oh, it's you."

Her bushy eyebrows were scrunched together and she had a hand propped on either hip. Instead of replying, Dustie took a careful step into the crowded trailer and plopped down on her saddle. When she took in my growing pile of cans, her expression softened some. After licking her lips, she finally spoke up. "Um, you okay?"

My head lolled back so I could make eye contact and I raised my beer. If it hadn't already been close to gone, I'm sure I would have sloshed it all over both of us. "What does it look like?"

"It looks like you had a rough day." Dustie's reply was even and quick.

I chuckled humorlessly and drained my can. "You got that right."